


Stage 5 Cul-Linger

by Sangosweetz



Category: Dragon Age Inquisition - Fandom
Genre: Bad Smut, Chants of light, Contest Entry, F/M, Funny, Smut, Terrible writing, connection sex, mourning sex, not cannon, over the top romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 01:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9945020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sangosweetz/pseuds/Sangosweetz
Summary: Entry for a bad smut contest. The story is meant to be read as a joke. Not at all cannon to the characters.Title and basic ideas were inspired by movie wedding crasher's phrase"Stage five clinger"





	

**Author's Note:**

> Entry for a bad smut contest. The story is meant to be read as a joke. Not at all cannon to the characters.  
> Title and basic ideas were inspired by movie wedding crashes's phrase  
> "Stage five clinger"  
> Thank you to eravalefantasy and Fluff_and_stuff for all the encouragement to write this. <3

Claire Trevelyan could never have asked for a better friend and lover than commander Cullen Stanton Rutherford. He was kind, compassionate, attentive, and a wild beast in the bedroom. Possessing a body that would have the unrivaled perfection of the Maker comparing cock size. Sexual skills that could make even the most well seasoned whore erupt in mere seconds. Claire was a lucky woman indeed. After their first night together he had sworn she would never want for anything. Little did she know how just serious a vow he was making…

Three weeks later just outside of Crestwood….

Claire was returning to her tent after discussing their latest victory with Iron Bull and Dorian. The party had just defeated the high dragon ‘Northern Hunter’. A celebratory round of drinks had been in order. The battle was long over but her head still swirled with the gruesome details. Something about nearly being burnt to a crisp morsel, bathing head to toe in her enemy’s blood and the smooth glide of her blade through the belly of the beast as its guts literally exploded on her had a surprising effect on the well mannered inquisitor, she was horny as fuck. 

She bit her lower lip and whimpered at the dilemma she found hers of in. What was she going to do? Her body was aching for her commander, who remained miles away at Skyhold. 

“Inquisitor! Look there!” The scout shouted, pointing in the direction of the setting sun. She squinted to see. A lone rider on horseback approached their camp at full speed. 

“Cullen?”

He tugged the white stallion into a canter; and then a full halt a few feet in front of Claire. When the dramatic dust settled, her eyes drank in the glorious vision of her erotic knight. The wind gently blew his golden locks across amber and honey eyes. He was shirtless and the red and orange hues of the sunset reflected off his rippling sweat covered muscles like flames of desire that threatened to consume her mind body and soul. His pants; black leather that squeezed so tight she could clearly see the outline of the thick, swollen sex rod ready to burst from the fabric. Cullen flashed a flawless pearl smile before he licked his lips and made an animalistic growl that soaked her smalls instantly. 

Cullen Stanton Rutherford; six foot of heaving, throbbing, aching desire shifted his weight to one side. Claire couldn't help the whimper that escaped her lips as she prayed those tight breeches would rip when he dismounted. 

“My lady. I was going over missives, when concern for your well being abruptly stole my thoughts.” He took her in his arms. His rock hard pleasure rod pressed against her holy sanctuary. Her breath caught in her throat as he continued. “My loins tightened and I knew it was of the utmost urgency I find you, my lady.” He dipped her, golden curls falling into his face as he spoke. His voice low, husky so full of want. Claire felt her insides clench tight as a bowstring. “Is it what I think it is? Say the words and I shall shred the bothersome cloth barriers between us and make love to you right here, right now.” Claire's toes curled and she almost came from his intoxicating voice alone. 

“Oh Sweet fucking Maker Cullen! Yes! Yes!”

Cullen cradled her to his chest and dove headfirst into the nearest tent, sending the soldier inside fleeing half dressed from his bed. He laid her like an offering on the sheets. The warmth from its previous occupant only added to the flush in her already pink cheeks. The commander stood above Claire, eyeing her as if she were the last meal he would ever have. A few quick rips and the pieces of fabric flew through the air like confetti. He lowered over her, nestling between her raised knees. 

Cullen’s manroot pulsed when Claire let out a angelic whimper. Oh what he wouldn't do for her, his Herald of Andraste. He would sacrifice his very soul to be granted admittance into her heavenly depths, he would carry her to the very steps of The Golden City, offer his seed to fill her sacred vessel, leave her trembling through the aftershocks of her glory as many times as she permitted him to do so. For she was his temple and he was the pilgrim. 

“Exaltations my lady?” He smiled wickedly.

“Oh Maker Cullen. That's such a long one.” Her eyes fixed on his strong hand as he stroked the throbbing meat stick between his muscled thighs. 

Cullen aligned himself and he began to recite the chants of light as he entered her holy sanctuary. 

“Lady of Perpetual Victory, your praises I sing!  
Gladly do I accept the gift invaluable  
Of your glory! Let me be the vessel  
Which bears the Light of your promise” 

Cullen plunged into her blessed temple over and over. Hips pounding downward like the gallop an Imperial Warmblood; flawless, powerful and steady. Pure perfection in his movements had her climbing to the height of the frostbacks and beyond. 

“....The ninth sacred mountain upon which rests  
The moral dust of Our Lady ascended  
Whole into the heavens, to be given high honor  
In the Realm of Dreams forever…”

He chanted over her blissful cry for release. Every thrust forced the air from her lungs, as sweat glistening forms swayed together. 

Cullen pulled her body flush to his as he sat back on his knees. Claire clung like a cat; nails leaving red lines on the planes of his back in desperation. He held her hips and thrust upward into her sopping wet core. The last verse approached and he could feel her teetering on the edge. 

“...All sins are forgiven! All crimes pardoned!  
Let no soul harbor guilt!  
Let no soul hunger for justice!...”

“Cullen I'm almost. Sweet maker! So! So!...” tears poured down her cheeks as Cullen took her past the point of no return. Her body was completely taut like she prepared to block a shield bash. Suddenly Claire let out a sharp guttural cry as everything that had wound so incredibly tight, snapped. Her body arched backwards into the most finely shaped horseshoe there had ever been. 

Swallowed by the sweet climatic warmth of his Herald of Andraste, Cullen surrendered quickly. 

“...By the Maker's will I decree  
Harmony in all things.  
Let Balance be restored  
And the world given eternal life."

He bellowed as his flesh rod swelled within her. One last deep plunge and he filled her sacred urn with powerful shots of hot love cream. 

Exhausted but satiated, they collapsed into a pile of boneless, heaving flesh. Claire trembled beneath her erotic savior, babbling complete and utter love drunk nonsense. 

“Claire Trevalyan. I will never break my vow to you. You will want for nothing.” He whispered seductively in her ear. 

One month later……

It was a sad day in Skyhold. They had lost Garrett Hawke at Adamant Fortress. His sacrifice had directly saved the entire Inquisition. He had owed her and the inquisition nothing. Yet, Claire was able to escape the fade with her life because he stayed behind. A man she hardly knew, but would be mourning his loss for days. She wanted to be comforted. Held close. Wanted Cullen’s divine body over hers. His powerful hips pumping between her trembling knees. 

“My lady? Did you summon for me?” 

Claire turned to see her savior standing in the doorway. Cullen Rutherford’s broad and heaving chest exposed by the impractically deep V in his silk white shirt. Again with the tight tight leathers. The seams stretched taut, barely able to keep his massive fuck stick concealed. Maker’s Breath he looked like the gallant prince from Varric’s romance novels; of which she owned a copy of every single volume. 

She tried to recall asking him to come. She hadn’t, had she? The thoughts of whether she had or whether she hadn't were fleeting as she eyed the rippling muscles, and grand bulge of her sex god. As if he instinctively knew what she needed, he was here now to fulfill her. 

“Cullen. Fill my body with your flesh cannon!” She cried as she raised her night dress to reveal her coincidental lack of undergarments. Glistening swollen folds dripped with anticipation, and Cullen growled. “Pound me like the waves of the storm coast!” Cullen smiled and tugged a single end of the leather binding holding his breeches closed. The fabric loosened and his prodigious member was released from it confines. A single pearl formed on the red throbbing tip. “Fill this emptiness inside with the nectar of the Maker!”

It was all the permission he needed. He rushed to her side, and pressed his chiseled frame against hers. Their lips sealed, kissing so hard their teeth cracked together in a wanton fury. 

Cullen’s hips nestled between the herald’s smooth as silk thighs. He aligned, rubbing velvet encased steel against her moist lower lips. 

“Shall we recite canticle of trials one? In remembrance of our fallen friend, my love?” Cullen asked. 

“Together my love. For Hawke.” Claire replied. Cullen hitched forward and sheathed completely within her grand cathedral. A loud cry filled the room as their bodies joined in a sanctimonious romp of grief and comfort. A few thrusts and the two lovers began to speak in harmonious unison. 

“Maker, my enemies are abundant.  
Many are those who rise up against me.  
But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,  
Should they set themselves against me…”

They continued the chant through the heavenly throes of  
ecstasy, until the whole of Skyhold was aware that their Herald and Commander were deeply, very deeply, mourning the loss of Garrett Hawke. 

 

Two months later…

Claire began to see a pattern between Cullen's spontaneous appearances and her sexual cravings. As if from their very first night they had been connected beyond an average physicality. He had an unnatural foresight into her thoughts. The concern was always temporary, for she was a very sexual woman and the act itself was incredible and very much appreciated. 

Claire joined Leliana, Josephine and a few pretentious nobleman in to the large banquet hall. The reason was to discuss what was to happen now that the Inquisition had defeated Corypheus. 

Her eyes rolled for the umpteenth time when Josephine’s icy glare fell on her slouched form. Claire corrected her posture and sighed. Her fingers picked at a deep scratch in the table as she nonchalantly listening to the nobles bickering; who contributed more, where the forces would be sent, and even the prospect of marriage to the Herald. 

She was already taken. It was known to everyone that she and Cullen were in a romantic and passionate love affair. For Maker’s sake, half of Varric's books were inspired by the randy couple. 

They continued to squabble as if she were not sitting at the same table. It's a shame Cullen had so many missives to attend too. He would certainly tell them he had a claim on the Inquisitor. She rubbed her thighs together discretely as her mind wandered on how everything would play out. 

Cullen would of course protest. And there would be gasps and whispers amongst themselves. Then when all else failed he would rise, circle the table and kiss and grope her till every noblemen was red faced. Then he would make use of this table...

She smirked, rubbing her open palm on the flat oak surface. 

… He would bend her over it and fuck her till she cried out the name of her lover for everyone in Thedas to hear. 

Oh shit! 

Did she just think that? He wouldn't? Would he? No. They were in a very important meeting. Cullen would never think of…

WHAM!!!

The door to the banquet hall burst open, the brilliant light from outside forced everyone to shield their eyes. Claire squinted, trying to see what had happened. A silhouette of a broad shouldered figure stood in the doorway. A dramatic pause had left the whole room tense. The figure stepped forward and into focus. 

Cullen Stanton Rutherford’s intimidating presence spread across the room. Like a lion; he sized up his weak male rivals, challenged each one with an iron gaze that could would make a high dragon tuck tail and retreat. Golden amber orbs searched for his one true soulmate amongst the frilly, laced, backstabbing, cake eaters. 

Claire was certain Cullen heard her heart pounding in excitement. The arrival of her erotic knight was the one thing that could save her from this boring discussion. Cullen appeared at her side and dipped her romantically. Wanton lust swelled his pupils, as he gazed at his holy enchantress. 

“Shall I recite Shartan nine for our honored guests?” His pearly grin bright as the sun, caused every woman and a few men to swoon. 

“Maker’s Breath Cullen. All twentyeight verses?” The scent of elfroot and desire filled the air, encasing the lovers like a cocoon. She felt the flush rise to her cheeks and her toes curled. 

“Every last one. And I think perhaps the first should start with you bent over the banquet hall table. I do know how much you love a sturdy surface.” He raised his brow wickedly. Everyone in the room’s jaw hit the floor in pure shock. 

Moments later the room had cleared out. Half eaten plates, spilled cups and tipped over chairs portrayed signs of a meal abandoned on great haste. The only sound was the slapping of bodies and the husky baritone voice of the commander delivering the divine words of the Maker for all of Skyhold to hear. 

Cullen held true to his vow. Claire Trevelyan never did want for anything ever again.


End file.
